The Sunday Las Vegas Review-Journal lay undisturbed on the table in front of me, supporting an open bottle of buffered aspirin which had spilled over the headline. I managed to grip three pills, brought them to my mouth, and chewed them up as quickly as possible. A big slug of orange juice washed away the bitter taste, and the cure was on. I found a big plastic mug, filled it with water from the tap, and set the microwave for three minutes. A jar of Taster’s Choice instant coffee and a spoon completed the necessary apparatus. In two hours I would be human again.
The phone rang, intensifying momentarily the pain in my head. I flipped it
open and mumbled a greeting.
“Randy. You sound bad. Are you O.K?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Just a touch of flu.”
It was my boss. Buster Martin. Captain Buford Martin, of the Reno Police Department. I’m Randall Dubois, a so-called detective. Mostly homicide but
also whatever comes along. Reno is really kind of a small town.
“Flu, my ass. You’re not still drunk, are you? Gin will be your end yet.”
“Not this time. Is today Sunday? I think it’s my day off.”
“There’s been a shooting. Looks like murder. Can you drive?”
“No way. Maybe in three hours.”
“I need you now. I’m sending a car for you. Bingo Harnessey is on his way.”
“Send Rachael. I can’t deal with Bingo now. Where’s the shooting?”
“I told you to forget Rachael. I meant it. She’s my secretary, not your love-slave. Evergreen Downs, off Eighth Avenue. Apartment 3G. Chick named Ramona Horton. Single, sixty or so. Lived alone. She was a hooker and blackjack dealer in Vegas years ago. Owned a couple of houses and a condo. Sold it all fifteen years back to a developer, netting three or four
million. Moved here and retired. Took a bullet, one .38 slug, in a weird place.
Straight down through the top of the head. Bingo can tell you the rest. There
isn’t much. You need to get your shit together, and now. The case is yours.
I’ll call you later.”
The microwave dinged, the water was tepid. Two more minutes produced a
gentle rolling boil. Two rounded teaspoons of the powdered coffee finished
the job. Just like Starbucks, and a lot less than three bucks.
I brushed my teeth, took a fast electric shave, and finished dressing.
The doorbell rang, it was Bingo. He looked and acted a little like Bill
Fagerbakke, as Dauber Dybinski, on the old Coach TV show with Craig Nelson.
Bingo is cool enough, but not my first choice as a chauffer today. I wanted
Rachael.
... to be continued ...
so far so good. the computer is not like a typewriter though so you don't need to hit return except when you want to start a new paragraph. Doing so adds a bunch of gaps to the text and takes away from the story.
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